


Of mild concussions and polar bears

by crazyforthisloki



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polar Bears - Freeform, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 11:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyforthisloki/pseuds/crazyforthisloki
Summary: He could never date someone like that, someone constantly bragging of their lack of needing thick jackets or double socks during the middle of a storm.This relationship, Merlin had thought, had been doomed for the start.Of course, the fact that he was now lying on a hospital gurney, a nurse checking his reflexes and the swelling on the back of his head increasing as fast as he breathed, was not helping matters either.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Merlin Holidays Community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Merlin+Holidays+Community).



> Happy Christmas everyone! Although my giftee had to drop out, I'm still nothing but excited to dedicate this work to the entire Merlin Holidays community. And my giftee nonetheless, even though it can only be in spirit, since this story was entirely their suggestion.
> 
> Best wishes!

Merlin remembered more than anything the seeping, bone-deep cold. Although he had been wearing his thickest jacket, favourite scarf and the bulkiest of possible beanies, it had not been enough to fend off the harsh winter. For a second, Merlin had thought that it was not possible to have enough layers for him to feel warm, that warmness was in fact an illusion and a silly dream, and that Merlin would never feel nothing but cold for the rest of his life. Yet that idea—quite dramatic, if he was being honest, but he had been feeling miserable and misery opened up the path for drama almost naturally to him—had been immediately shattered at the sight of Arthur.

Merlin remembered Arthur with a combination of both admiration and annoyance. What an arrogant idiot, prancing around with nothing but some shorts and a shirt, ready to play football like it was the middle of the summer and not almost Christmas. Sitting by the side-lines, Merlin remembered being hit with the awful realisation that Arthur was one of those people: those who had good circulation and were always feeling hot. Merlin had sunk further down inside his clothes, realising he had made a terrible mistake. He could never date someone like that, someone constantly bragging of their lack of needing thick jackets or double socks during the middle of a storm.

This relationship, Merlin had thought, had been doomed for the start.

Of course, the fact that he was now lying on a hospital gurney, a nurse checking his reflexes and the swelling on the back of his head increasing as fast as he breathed, was not helping matters either.

*

Arthur was calculating how hard would he have to toss his shoe towards the radio in order to break it. It was not the most perfect of angles so, he figured, it would require an exceptional act of strength and accuracy. And if he failed, he would stride towards the nurses’ station and rip apart the horrendous apparatus with his bare hands. Make a scene, get thrown out of the A&E and be on his way home—that sounded like an excellent plan.

Except, of course, he could not just volt and leave Merlin alone.

After all, this was their first date; there had to be some first-date standards for him to maintain even though the whole evening had turned from awkward to literally painful. Still, he was a Pendragon and Pendragons were not quitters. Just socially and emotionally stunned.

There was a brief pause in between the end of a melody and the beginning of the next one in which Arthur entertained the thought that the machine had broken apart through the power of his sheer hatred. But he had no such luck. Too soon for Arthur’s taste, _Silent Night_ began playing and his right foot itched with the thrill of sending his shoe flying towards one of the amplifiers. But he was feeling terribly tired, the weight of his muscles weighing down around his shoulders as his legs finally catching up to the physical exertion from before. And Merlin, small and still barely waking from his unconscious state, looked to pitiful for Arthur to make a scene and leave him alone. Maybe his head would hurt even more from the embarrassment of having almost dated someone as prompt to cause scenes as Arthur.

Regret was only a thought away, after all.

He sighed, too tired to care if his posture was not optimal or whether he was in fact slouching, letting the obnoxious song surround him. More likely than not Merlin did not really want him there—probably making his own calculations as to how long he had to be stuck beside Arthur for the day—but he was not going to leave until told otherwise.

He was a Pendragon, after all, and if there was one thing Pendragons were good at—besides finances—was at being stubborn idiots.

Arthur was more than ready to be the most stubborn of idiots, as long as Merlin would have him.

*

Merlin thought, as long as they kept playing _Silent Night_ he would not even bother with the throbbing pain. The nurse had told him he had been out for a minute, at least, and that was warrant enough for him to be seen by a doctor. He thought he had seen Arthur slumping down on his chair at the sound of it, but he could not turn sideways unless he wanted to strain his shoulder even more. And then he would have two aching spots and that would do no good for anyone.

She had said the doctor would be there _right_ _away_ … around twenty minutes ago.

Or at least, several songs ago.

But Merlin could not do much about it; he could barely get his neck to remain straight, even less go around complaining about some negligent customer service.

Besides, that would have been very rude.

It was almost Christmas after all—well, more like, two days away from being so, but Merlin felt very happy he could remember the proper date—and people were swarming from all entrances and exits at all times. People seemed to get really hurt around Christmas apparently. Probably from hanging all those decorations. Besides, his injury was not that severe. A slight bump in the head and some scraps around his left shoulder—hardly a life-or-death situation.

 _He felt absolutely fine_ , he thought as his eyes slowly closed down.

“Merlin, Merlin.” Someone was shaking him by his strained shoulder, which was not a very nice thing to do. It hurt and his head was moving and he did not know what was happening. Except that everything hurt. “Merlin, wake up.”

“Wha?” he asked groggily. His eyes were now barely open, the light looming right on top of his face straining his sight. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You were groaning,” the voice responded. Merlin blinked several times, although he could not see pass the tip of his nose. It did not matter. Arthur’s gigantic head—not really, but from his perspective it seemed at least—was right over him, inspecting his face closely. “Quite a bit. You sounded hurt, I thought I should wake you from it.” This close up, Arthur’s cheeks looked oddly rose-coloured. He looked worried even though he was not even making eye-contact with him.

Merlin thought it for the best. He did not want to think how big of a mess he might look now; the least Arthur noticed him, the better.

“I didn´t—he coughed. His voice sounded coarse from no use—I didn’t realise I was making any noises.” Arthur moved from him and Merlin lost all sight of his gigantic but handsome face. He still felt his presence beside him, but it was not the same. Arthur was the type of person best seen than sensed—that might be a bit shallow, but Merlin was at peace with it. Arthur was just _that_ good looking that he did not care about the good sense of moral his mother had imparted him with.

“I’ll call a nurse. See if they can give you some pain medication.” And before Merlin could say anything against harassing innocent nurses, Arthur was gone.

There he goes, Merlin thought feeling the back of his head loudly complaining. No wonder he had been groaning, even in his sleep. He felt like groaning and complaining now fully awake. Merlin sat as best as he could on his bed, just to get the flashing blinding light away from the direct line of his eyes. The motion was just a bit too much, not only his head making some unnecessarily rude comments about the physical strain, but his shoulder as well. He sighed and reclined back, trying to find Arthur’s muscular figure amongst the crowd of never-ending moving hospital staff, patients, relatives and what not.

He was in pain and nobody was looking into him, then why not let Arthur harassed some poor nurse?

*

Arthur did not really know what to do. He did not want to go, find some distracted nurse, and shout to their face some rude remark about their performance because his friend—date, hopefully something more but who was he kidding—was in excruciating pain. And even if Merlin was not really in that much pain—although how could he tell given the other had not mentioned much about it—he was duty bound to say something of the sorts, since he had had to go and act all worried about his well-being.

Of course, Arthur was genuinely worried about Merlin’s well-being. He had not liked one bit listening to the other man groan in his sleep and stare bleakly at his surroundings, all confused like a new born calf.

Or puppy.

Arthur really had to work on his non-equestrian metaphors.

But how he felt about it did not matter. Merlin was in pain and Arthur was going to rescue him from it. At least, in some level, by proxy since he did not really know how to proceed from a medical point of view. He knew enough, though. He knew that, by bringing a nurse to his side who would bring a doctor, the pain would somehow go away.

Unless Merlin’s condition was worse than what they had thought. Maybe he was internally bleeding into his brain; maybe he had had a brain tumour all along and the impact from the fall had disturbed it and made it upset. Arthur did not know how dangerous an upset brain tumour could be, but it was still a tumour in the end, so it was not bound to be that good. Maybe Merlin was dying. Maybe Merlin had already died while Arthur had been struggling trying to get a grip of himself and find a nurse, like he had promised. _Oh_ _god_. Merlin had died thinking Arthur had failed.

Well, that just was not going to be.

“Excuse me.” The nurse was typing down something on her computer, too busy to look at him. “Excuse me,” he replied hoping his voice was as stern as his sister’s but not as stern as his father’s. It was a tricky balance, at best.

She seemed to type one final word before glancing up towards him. It could have almost been funny, how her eyes did a double take on his figure, either from appreciation or confusion. Arthur knew he cut a good figure, but he was also—painfully—aware how ridiculous he must look, standing in a hospital dressed as if he was ready to go and play for England. “Yes?” she asked, her voice perfectly neutral. Her dark curls looked all harried bundled up precariously on top of her head and there was a vague hint of bags below her dark eyes. Arthur felt immediately sorry for her, but he could not back down now. He was in it too deep to quit. Besides, this was not the time to feel sorry for others; Merlin counted on his help to heal that terribly hypothetical brain tumour. Pendragons did not back down and did not feel guilty for others.

“My friend’s been here for almost an hour. He’s in serious pain and needs to be seen at once.” He tapped his fingers on the counter, trying to make the imperativeness of his point come fully across. The nurse looked anything but impressed or in a hurry to go check Merlin.

She nodded, not sympathetically but as she was more than used to listening the same arguments all day long. That was probably closer to the truth that Arthur would care to admit out-loud. “I understand, sir, but as you can see, we’re all a bit occupied at the moment. Your friend will be seen as soon as a doctor is free.” And then, she looked down.

Arthur knew a cold dismissal from the sheer look of them. He did not need to be told twice about it, having been on the giving end of them at daily basis. He considered his situation for a moment: perhaps this was the time to ponder about his ways with the people he took as simple subordinates, how he treated them and barely glanced at their directions, as if they did not matter. Of course they mattered, regardless of how much his father might say they did not, yet his behaviour was not usually proof of this. Perhaps, he thought, this was the time to rethink his ways and have a heartfelt change of attitude towards life and everything else.

Become a better version of himself…

He blinked several times. When he glanced back, the nurse was already gone. Arthur should not be wasting his time on such silly ideas. He had promised Merlin medical help and he would be damned if he were to fail him. There was, logically, only one solution left for him: he would have to find a doctor himself, kidnap him and bring him to Merlin’s bedside for examination.

Or just ask nicely for their attention. Whatever came easier.

*

Arthur had disappeared. He had been gone for around five more songs, vanished into the growing crowd circulating in front of him. From his limited point of view, he could see no signs of his red-coated figure; he could not even see those strong, well-defined legs of his, which was an even greater shame. He had simply disappeared into the masses never to be seen again.

Clearly, the cats were out of the bag now. What were six years of mildly passive-aggressive friendship and the possibility for something more when Merlin was nothing but a nuisance? Considering Arthur’s vanishing act, not that much of an effort.

Or perhaps there was still hope, although a rather dreary one. But it was still his best option, even though he did not like the sound of it.

Merlin sagged on his bed, attempting to accept the inevitable truth: Arthur had fallen down an elevator shaft and he was now very much dead.

It was the only logical explanation for his disappearance. Considering how in fact the actual logical explanation was that he had run out of patience with Merlin and gone home, he chose the silly but comforting one. Besides, it was easier to pass along the idle minutes planning Arthur’s imaginary funeral. He hoped he would get invited, even though his family would not be too pleased with his involvement on their son’s untimely death. But he had known the Pendragon family for almost five years now, surely they would overlook a meaningless detail as their golden boy dying because Merlin had hit his head.

Pendragons were meant to be a very rational type of family after all. Well, Uther sometimes went on some extenuating diatribes against the working-class and those ‘hippy liberals’—which in a way were technically the same type of people—and Morgana had not yet forgiven Arthur for flushing down the toilet her favourite doll fifteen years ago. As for the rest of Arthur’s family, Merlin did not know much about them except they could all be catalogued within a scale of how disgustingly rich and closely linked to the royal family they were. Best case scenario, only Arthur’s lost relatives hated him on sight and forbidden him from attending the funeral. Worst case scenario, he was forbidden to attend the funeral, Uther had him tossed into a different elevator shaft and Morgana forbid him to attend _his_ own funeral.

 _Dear_ _god_.

Merlin had committed a terrible, terrible mistake: he had killed the only mildly rational Pendragon left on the whole of the British Isles. Surely, Arthur would let him attend his own funeral. It would be rather awkward if he did not show up to it. Gaius would probably disapprove of such arrangements.

He wished Arthur was still alive so he could clarify him his wishes to be on his own funeral. Merlin sighed tiredly—Arthur was dead and his head was still aching. This was not a good day for him.

“Everything alright, luv?” Merlin blinked, confused as to the random voice peering through his very rational thoughts. He turned right and met a pair of kind, dark eyes glancing at his way. The woman, short but not frail with a similar complexion to his mother, smiled at him. “You seemed kind of gone there for a moment.”

Merlin shook his head, instantly regretting it. “I was just thinking about a friend.”

She nodded, completely understanding even though she knew nothing about it. Just like his mother used to. Merlin hoped she did not understand the whole of it; he was only there for a mild concussion and a bruised shoulder, there was no need to be transferred to the psych ward. He might even blame Arthur’s death on some vague form of brain damage if he was lucky. Uther had been commenting on the same diagnosis for years, after all, and the man was scarily set on making everything he said true.

“I’m doctor Helen, luv. Can you tell me your name?”

“Merlin. Merlin Emrys.” She wrote it down making him frown. “The nurse who admitted me had already taken my personal information.”

She nodded again. “I know, luv, I’m staring at it right here,” she replied pointing down to the chart in her hands. “Just making sure there’s not any lasting damage and you remember everything.”

Oh. Well, Merlin realised, answering correctly to his name would severely damage his possibilities of being acquitted in terms of insanity. 

“Age?”

“Twenty-two.” Doctor Helen eyed him wearily. “I’ve always looked younger. I was born in nineteen-ninety-four, if that helps.”

“That does help. How about you tell me the date, luv?”

“December 22nd.” She nodded with what seemed to be a pleased smile. “Almost Christmas. Because Christmas is on the twenty-fifth. I do remember that, remember when Christmas is.” Somebody should shut him up by now; normally that somebody would be Arthur but that was no longer an option. Dead people could not really make him stop talking, could they?

 _Shut_ _up_ , _Mer_ - _lin_.

Hum. It seemed they very well could. Merlin closed his mouth and stared sheepishly at her. Doctor Helen smiled amused. Well, at least he did not have to worry about possible insanity. She was a woman of science, ultimately, and there was no denying Merlin was an idiot. A crazy one, to make matters worse.

“Yes, very good,” she said nodding. “And then comes New Year and Valentine’s.” Doctor Helen took out the same type of torch the nurse had seared his eyes with before. Merlin squirmed at the temporary blindness but boldly faced the flashing glint anyways. There was something about doctors, something Merlin could not truly fathom, that made him want to be on his best behaviour. Maybe, deep down, Merlin was another one of Pavlov’s dogs, thinking a good sense of decorum would grant him free candy. He blamed his mother for it.

“You seemed to be quite well,” she said.

“My head hurts.”

“Perfectly normal for a small concussion. You might feel nauseous later on, but we’ll give you some medicine for it. No need to get on your feet and start moving around until the pain passes.”

“And my shoulder hurts, too.” He did not like the inherently whiny tone of his voice, but he was not about to look a gift on the horse’s mouth. The woman had the important power of providing pain killers, which made her his instant best friend. It was only a lucky coincidence that his actual best friend was nowhere to be seen, probably dead on a ditch somewhere. And if hospitals did not have ditches, then somewhere equally dreadful and cheesy.

“We’ll give you some topical pain relief for it.” Her voice had sounded quite concluding, yet she did not go anywhere. Doctor Helen sat by Merlin’s left, eyeing amusedly at Arthur’s sports bag. Clearly she was making the mental connection between something sports-related and Merlin’s injury. In a way, she was right. In a different way, she had no idea. “Could you tell me how your accident happened, luv?”

Merlin felt his cheeks heating up immediately. He had been trying to forget the frustratingly embarrassing event ever since he had woken up. The fact that there had been a reason for him to lose consciousness was humiliating enough. “Uhm—he bitted down his lower lip—it was just an accident. A typically ordinary accident, you know? Just bad luck and all.”

He did not realise how horrendously suspicious he sounded until he turned and saw Doctor Helen’s confused expression. “Not that anyone assaulted me or anything!” He raised his hands apologetically. “I was just a bit distracted and did not notice someone marching towards me. But it was all fair game, I’m sure Percy didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Do what on purpose?”

Merlin considered his options, but none of them seemed to fare well for him. He breathed in deeply, thinking that the truth was the same as ripping of a band-aid. “Crushing me,” he mumbled knowing his face was turning dangerously red. Pendragon-red, most likely. Doctor Helen’s eyebrows shoot off to her hairline. Oh dear baby Jesus. Now, not only did he sound oddly suspicious, he also sounded weirdly sexual. Merlin would not say he was completely vanilla, but the idea of crushing sounded just too kinky for him. And probably for the good doctor who was still waiting for a less sexual medical explanation.

“I mean—he started getting all flustered—it was a football game and I was standing by a side, I didn’t notice someone was approaching me fast until I felt Percy falling down on top of me. He lost his footing, I’m guessing, because he’s normally a really good person, something of a gentle giant, really, and he would’ve never had crushed me on purpose. Or that it was some sort of sexual type of courtship. Besides, I’m sure Arthur wouldn’t have allowed him because we were on our first date and, yes, we were probably scared shitless about it, but still— _Shut up, Mer-lin, breathe Merlin, just plain stop communicating your ideas out loud, Merlin_ —I’m okay.”

“I can see that.”

Doctor Helen seemed to be doing her best to keep some form of professional integrity and neutrality. If she had started to giggle and laughed at his story—as if something like that could be regarded as a form of narrative—he would not have blamed her. He had heard himself and knew perfectly well how he sounded when he got nervous. But she had asked for details and Merlin just had to make the doctor happy about his performance. Damn his mother’s good sense of decorum.

He replied weakly, “Thank you” because at that point, there was not much for him to do about either his life or her perception of his mental condition.

“I’ll go and get you your medicine, then you can be discharged and continue with your date.” She swiftly got up and left before Merlin could have much of a say on it. Probably for the best, since every time Merlin had a say on things, he ended up talking about sexual forms of courtship.

Oh, right. He blinked several times. His date. Hurrah for good health if it meant going back to that. Hurrah! indeed.

*

Arthur had been chasing down an oncologist for the good part of an hour before he realised he was acting like an idiot. He just about stopped his hand from knocking on the doctor’s office before turning around to wait for the lift. His life would have improved significantly if the doors were to open making him fall down the shaft to a sure and instantaneous death. At least, he would not have to face Merlin’s disappointed face.

Going down back to the A&E, Arthur noticed the time on a doctor’s wristwatch. He had been gone for almost an hour since he had last seen Merlin. Arthur’s stomach plummeted down inside of his; either, by now, Merlin was dead or had been discharged by someone much more competent than him. What if he thought Arthur had just grown tired of being by his side and left him without a single by-you-leave? He knew Merlin, had known him for the best part of the last six years, and thus had an intimate knowledge of how the other’s mind worked. He had probably been thinking that exact same thing, that Arthur had abandoned him because he did not care.

Arthur shook his head and smiled fondly. Sometimes the idiot could be such a drama queen.

“Merlin!” he said making his way back to the other’s gurney. Someone might have even said he was sauntering back towards Merlin; that someone might have been Merlin himself. The idea of seeing the other roll down his eyes at him made his heart beat a little bit faster. He did not like spending time away from him—he truly did not know what he had been thinking before, storming out on him trying to get help. Clearly, he was all the help Merlin actually needed. He reached the gurney with a smile ready on his lips. At least, that was where he had been counting to find Merlin.

The gurney was empty and Arthur felt like a class-A type of idiot. Either Merlin was down on the morgue, cold and lifeless and utterly paler than usual, or back home, cosy and warm and without him. Arthur did not know which option sounded more depressing.

“Arthur?”

Put with a sword against the wall, Arthur would have to admit he was rather not proud of his reaction. But as long as nobody decided to confront him on the matter, he would say nothing about it. It was just that, sometimes, his body decided not to obey any other command besides following Merlin’s voice. It usually ended well for him—he had good reflexes—other times, not so much. That was why his feet ended up twirling on their heels, like some constipated version of a football player-slash-ballerina, turning him to face the source of the voice.

He knew perfectly well how he had looked just for the expression drawn on Merlin’s face. Who was, strangely enough, not lying dead down at the morgue or back at home, ignoring Arthur. The mocking and teasing was bound to happen, but since Merlin had not left without him—from the hospital or the world of living—he considered this a win.

“Should you be walking already? Does your head still hurt?” His voice sounded excruciatingly worried, it was almost embarrassing, although Merlin did not seem to pay much notice to it. Still, no matter what Morgana—or Gwaine, or Elena, or Leon, or the man who sold him his coffee walking down the office—might say, he was _not_ the mother hen of the group. That was just humiliating.

And he most certainly was not a mother hen more often than not when in proximity to Merlin. It was just that the other had a clear penchant to trip and fall and hurt his limbs.

A lot.

Their presence in the hospital was proof enough that Arthur did not care _enough_ about him. He needed to step up his mother-hen game for both their sakes. Arthur was not sure his nerves could tolerate another trip to the A &E—so, in a sense, he worried about Merlin for his own sake.

He was nothing but a selfish prick, Merlin told him that all the time. In a way, he had to stay in character for the sake of preserving the status quo.

Merlin hunched his shoulders. “I got discharged while you were away.”

Arthur winced. He knew that tone very well. It was Merlin’s ‘I’m not judging you for your life choices, except I totally am’ intonation. It was the same type of voice he had used six years ago when first meeting Arthur, seeing him berate some poor helpless waiter, confronting him about it, and then, getting the entirety of a beer pitch thrown at him. Which in Arthur’s defence, he might have been slightly inebriated at the time. In retaliation—and he truly did not have a good defence for this—he had gotten Merlin fired. Something he still could not forget or forgive himself with, even though Merlin had, or so he said. Arthur was still waiting for the shoe to drop and had that terrible memory thrown back at him any time. True to Merlin’s kind nature, he had never even mentioned it.

Except when the other had also been drunk. But those times did not count.

And even after all that, the thing that had upset Merlin the most had not been him losing his job—he had never been the best of waiters, after all, even Arthur had to admit that—but seeing him behave like such an arrogant prat, just for the sake that he could get away with it. And that before Arthur had known him, he had really thought he was entitled to treat people like crap just because he was better off than most of them.

But, of course, along came Merlin to save him from his dark ways, one pitch of beer at the time.

“I’m fine, really. The doctor said it wasn’t that bad when she looked at me.” The ‘ _when you were gone_ ’ was subtly implied in his tone.

Arthur had a strange love-hate relationship with that voice. He hated the times it came from Merlin’s mouth, because he knew he had done something wrong or his old ways were slipping back and he was becoming an annoying prat again. But he also loved it, if love was even the word for it. Because it meant that every time Merlin spoke to him like that, he cared enough about Arthur to let him know what a prat he was being. And that had to count for something.

Arthur rubbed one hand over his face—he should have realised by now that he did not truly care for the voice, he had an actual love-hate relationship with the source of the voice more than the actual sound.

Except, it was more love than hate.

Not that he was mentioning that detail any time soon. By the look in Merlin’s face, he was definitely not mentioning that until, most likely, next year.

If Merlin ever forgave him.

“Good,” he nodded. “Ready to go, then?”

“Just have to get the pain killers from the pharmacy upstairs.”

“Good, good,” he said with a wobbling head. His muscle control seemed to have vanished by now. It was only when Merlin made a move to step towards him and flinched with a pained expression, that Arthur registered the fact the other was carrying his sports bag. On his bad shoulder. The idiot.

“Merlin! You idiot!—it sounded like the type of detail that needed to be reiterated—What do you think you’re doing?” He walked straight to him, picking up the bag and ignoring the other’s indignant expression.

“Well, how was I supposed to know you were coming back for it? I couldn’t just leave it out there!”

“You could’ve used your other arm!”

“You know I don’t like putting weight on my left arm!”

“Oh, so you want to lose the arm, is that it? You want to be one-arm Merlin and have a hook instead of a hand? Do you really want to play captain Hook that bad, _Mer_ -lin?”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin said pushing him on the shoulder. “You know very well I’d play Tinker Bell.”

Arthur was very set on staying serious, glaring at Merlin for his idiocy. But that had been before he had started picturing the other with a skin-tight green dress and bright blond hair. It was a mental picture, both delightful and horrifying. “Shut up yourself,” he replied trying to stifle the laughter threatening to escape from his lips.

“Admit it. I’d be a very fetching Tinker Bell.”

Arthur snorted. Merlin’s face was no longer upset nor disappointed; he was probably picturing himself as Tinker Bell, too.

Bastard, fully aware of Arthur’s weaknesses.

“Blond is definitely not your colour.”

Merlin started to laugh, too, his body softly shaking. In all fairness, Merlin was already Arthur’s major weakness. Anything slightly Merlin-related—like his favourite book—or that might even sooth Merlin’s preferences—like the new coffee shop opening next week nearby his office—would be his utter doom. Yet, their first date was meant to be the solution to all his problems. Get everything out in the open for Merlin to either kick or embrace his feelings. Either way, after this day, they were meant to have an answer; they were going to know if friendship or something else was it for them. Except for the tiny detail of Arthur panicking, not knowing how to schedule a date with Merlin that would differ from their normal outings, and had invited him to watch him and all their mutual friends play footie.

Consistency, Arthur remember. If he was known for being an emotionally stunned bastard, he was going to go down as such. Besides, Merlin had always liked him for who he was—except some minor details—and would not want for him to change.

“Let’s go,” he said once they had calmed down. “Let’s get you your medicine.”

Merlin gave him a sheepish smile and walked beside him to the lift. He did not mention his disappearance again; he did not mention anything, really. Not even their failed date or the idea of moving forward once they had the pain killers. Clearly, they would have to rescheduled, Merlin could not really go out like that. But he did not say anything about a redo at all so Arthur kept his mouth closed too.

Arthur decided not to mention the date; not until Merlin did, that was. It was a matter of self-preservation and there was no better technique than ignoring something had happened. He was saving himself—and their friendship—from the heartache that would naturally erupt once they realised dating was off-limits to them. Merlin’s concussed head and hurt shoulder was enough evidence of how bad they were at it.

If staying friends was what Merlin wanted—and of course he would want that, after realising dating Arthur was an activity that would endanger him physically. Then, that was what Arthur was going to offer him. And if his chest ached from the thought of going back to normal having been so close from being something more, he ignored it.

He could still be a good friend for Merlin, even though the idea was just too painful for him to develop it.

*

Arthur had disappeared.

Again.

Merlin wanted to say he was no longer surprised—sometimes it seemed Arthur had the attention span of a new-born cub—but it had still shocked him turning around to find himself alone. Again. Particularly, since he had been having a very interesting conversation with nothing but thin air for the good part of the last ten minutes. Typical of Arthur, leaving him alone to stiffly walked away from the chemist who had been eying him weirdly for the past ten minutes. Perhaps even longer, Merlin could not tell, revaluing whether Merlin’s prescription was correct or not. Merlin had waived him goodbye with a stiffed smile, which most likely did not help his case that much.

Every single time Merlin had been accused of acting crazy, it had been Arthur’s fault.

Every single time—Merlin had been counting, starting from their first meeting which had gotten him fired. He did not blame Arthur for it—he had done so a bit six years ago—but it was still devilishly pleasant to watch the other fluster and stammer every time Merlin brought it up after having some drinks. He did feel bad about it afterwards but he figured it was enough retaliation for all the weary looks he got on an almost daily basis.

Merlin found an empty chair, next to the lift, and he sagged gracefully to it. Except his legs always had a habit of moving to their own accord—but still, his mother always said all things considered, he was very a graceful person. He had an inbox full with worried calls and texts from his friends but one single—and very worrying one—from his uncle Gaius, wanting to know how his date had gone. It was indeed very worrying, considering Gaius always looked at him as if Merlin was the bane of his existence. But he was still family and family cared. Family also cared quite a lot, especially when certain family members went on dates with their best friends, as to which other family members replied with a ‘ _finally’_ at first hearing.

He decided families were weird and felt lucky of only having one significant member.

Merlin replied to his friends’ messages with different variations of ‘ _I’m_ _still_ _alive’_ and ‘ _everything’s_ _fine’_. He saved Gaius’ message for later, preferably until he was not hooked on pain killers. Which he was not, yet, as they were still inside the small white paper bag. But it was easier to tell himself and avoid all possible thoughts on the subject by blaming his injury.

And if he was that lucky, he could also blame his head and shoulder on the inevitable failure this date had been.

Because the real truth was much too painful to be faced with words at this point.

It broke Merlin’s heart a bit—or a lot, but who was counting—to consider the possibility that he and Arthur were not compatible in a romantic way. As friends? They got like fire on a log—unstoppable and endlessly natural. As potential lovers? Apparently not so much. More like too many awkward silences and disappearance acts. Merlin had feared as much, but figured out it would be something they would get over during their date. Or dates, when he had been feeling optimistic. That somehow their banter would prevail over their nerves, like the most natural of solutions.

Merlin had been wrong.

Clearly.

Because obviously Arthur had feared the same end but, unlike Merlin, had done something to prevent it. Why else would he have invited him to a date on a football pitch? It was either that or Arthur was an idiot. But no, as likely as that idea might have been only days ago, that could not be. Arthur may be an idiot when it came to ordering his food or colour-coding his clothes, but not with matters like this one. Merlin knew Arthur, knew him better than himself most days. Merlin knew how Arthur behaved around dates, specially dates involving people he genuinely cared about like Gwen or that Sophia. It was because Arthur had this complex to overcompensate from his father that he went all out on his dates. He had taken Sophia for a weekend to Paris at the week of knowing her! He had known Merlin for six years and could not have even bothered to meet him for food indoors. Or a hot cup of coffee so Merlin could regain the sensitivity on his fingers. None of that.

It was obvious: Arthur was gently trying to let Merlin know he was no interested in him that way. That he had immediately regretted his decision. That perhaps Merlin had imagined the whole thing. It would not have been too rare for him; he had once been convinced there was a goblin stealing his money when he was not looking. It had turned out to be Gwaine who took the spare key and got cash to buy beer when he was working.

It did not even matter at that point that it had been Arthur the one who had asked Merlin the day before. He was obviously doing his best to reverse it. Merlin had simply not expected it would take him a mild concussion and a useless shoulder to realise the truth. He was stuck in a deplorable circle of unrequited crushing over his best friend. It was pitiful. If this had happened to someone else, he might have marched towards them, slapped them in the face, and told them to get it together. But Merlin could not do that with himself, and not only because slapping himself with his right hand would be a tad uncomfortable.

He was nothing but screwed and the idea of not having even the chance of seeing something with Arthur made his body ache. Perhaps, something inside his chest complained too but out of self-preservation, he ignored it.

“Hey.” Merlin jumped even though Arthur’s voice had been nothing but calm. Almost too calm for being his usual self. He squinted his eyes at him suspiciously, but Arthur did not pay much attention to it. The other sat by his side, carrying a black bag next to his sports one. “Is it your head?”

“No,” Merlin replied dragging out the last sound. He did not like kind-Arthur; it was usually a preparation for mean-Arthur. As in I-think-we-should-be-friends-type-of-meanness-Arthur. “You just surprised me.”

“Well, don’t think too hard, that brain of yours is too weak to handle your idle thoughts.”

“Ha ha,” he laughed languidly.

Arthur frowned. “Everything alright?”

Merlin hunched his shoulders. “’m tired.”

“Right,” he nodded. “You should get home soon and rest. Doctor’s orders, right?”

Merlin nodded. Not that Arthur would know what his doctor’s orders had been, anyway. He had been too busy scanting off away from him to be by his side when he had needed him. He had been suspecting Arthur would not be that good of a date; he had never thought he would be such a lousy best friend. “Where were you?” he asked because what did he have to lose by then?

“What?”

“Where did you leave?”

“I had to go and see something,” Arthur replied, sternly looking ahead of him and not at Merlin.

“Okay.” He could recognise a brush-off from a mile off. That did not mean he was not a stubborn bastard either. “And where did you go before?”

“Before?”

Merlin groaned. It seemed Arthur was the one with the shaken head. “Yes, _before_. When you left and the doctor came to see me and I was all alone and had to explain why I had a blow to the head.” He was getting a bit fired up, but he could not help it. His mental capacities had been compromised recently and he had all the necessary excuses to be irrational and yell at Arthur. He had the best of excuses, after all: a doctor’s permit. “So, where were you?”

Arthur seemed taken aback by his abrupt change of mood. Good riddance, since Merlin had to endure the other’s change of heart. “I was looking for help,” he replied.

He stared at Arthur incredulously. “Really? You went for help? As in someone who would help in a hospital?”

“Yes!”

“It took you almost an hour to find a nurse or doctor in a bloody hospital!?”

Arthur, at last, turned around and met his eyes. His cheeks were coloured and his mouth was hanging open. “I’ll have you know I had found even an oncologist for you!”

Merlin blinked. He felt a treacherous curvature by a side of his mouth. Damned Arthur and his ability to say the silliest of things with the most serious of faces. It was probably something he had picked up from his father, but he still hated him for it. He hated Arthur for all the tiniest of details—like the way he scrunched his nose right before he had to lie or how he licked his lips when he was about to say a really silly joke—that had grown inside of him like some toothless parasite he could not extirpate. And if that was not the cutest, most loving analogy, it was only because he was confused and hurt and tired. And there was not a single law in the world that stipulated he had to be witty twenty-four-seven, every single moment, no matter what Arthur said about being bored and Merlin being the source of his personal entertainment.

“Why would you get an oncologist?”

Arthur said, expression dead-serious, “Because you might’ve been dying of a brain tumour and needed immediate help because of the blow to the head.” He was just too tired to control himself any longer. Merlin started to laugh and giggle like he was six years old again and not many things mattered in the world. “You shouldn’t laugh at me, Merlin when I’m caring about your health,” Arthur pouted.

And, so Merlin realised he could never really hate Arthur.

And, so Merlin realised he was too doomed for words too.

But, oh well, it was just a part of his life by now. If Arthur decided he only wanted Merlin as the proverbial stone at the back of his shoe, then Merlin would be the best one he could be. Eventually, he would get over it, most likely when he would be sixty and too wrinkled to care about being attractive anymore. He looked at Arthur’s face, at those pouty lips and crooked teeth—Arthur would make a very attractive sixty-year old. Life was just not fair.

He said when the laughter finally died off, “Sorry for laughing.”

“Well, sorry for breaking your head and shoulder.”

“You didn’t really break anything. That was all on Percy and his unnatural size. In a way, it was mother nature’s fault for making him that way.”

“Shut up, Merlin. I’m trying to be deep and meaningful here.”

Merlin snorted. “Sorry.” Arthur glared at him. “Sorry, but it wasn’t your fault, really.”

“But it was me who asked you in the first place. You wouldn’t have been there in the first place, watching some boring football game, had it not been because I panicked.”

“And why—Merlin gulped down, looking to his feet—why did you panic?”

Arthur sighed tiredly, rubbing his face with one hand. For a single moment, he looked like the one run down by a human-giant. “Because I got too winded up on the fact you had actually said yes to a date and I was panicking around my house, thinking how I would inevitably ruin everything, that I forgot to make reservations or other plans. So I panicked and brought you to the game. To watch me play. And not even talk to me.”

“So, you didn’t ask me to the game because you were trying to find some subtle but manly way of letting me know you weren’t really that interested?”

“What!? Of course not! Where do you get these ideas?”

“You left for quite a while and I had some time to think about things.”

“Yeah?” Arthur looked insecure sitting next to him, his legs slouching in front of him, gripping to his bags as if there were two plastic lifelines. “And what were you thinking about?”

Merlin smiled. “That I wouldn’t mind having a redo of this day.” Arthur turned and smiled back at him. _Yes_ , Merlin decided, this man was simply impossible to hate. “The sooner, the better.”

“Well, I agree,” he nodded. Then, Arthur extended his hand towards him as if they were closing down a business deal. Merlin would have laughed had it not been the same way Arthur had asked him out the day before. It would be pointless to try and change Arthur’s approach to certain things, like life, friendship and romance. Merlin just felt glad he was a part of them, to begin with, and that everything would be fine. “Here,” Arthur said pushing the black plastic bag to him.

Merlin took it and immediately felt something bumpy and lumpy. He eyed Arthur wearily, but the other seemed so pleased with his actions, Merlin did not have the heart to make some scatting comment about it. He opened it and decided not saying something ironic had been the best decision he had had in the day so far.

“A teddy bear?” he asked, taking the fluffy white creature in his hands. A stuffed polar bear—to Merlin, there could not be a greater present, ever. Well, except for a unicorn, but he was depressingly realistic. The urge to press it against his chest was bigger than his sense of propriety and maturity. Arthur appeared awfully pleased with Merlin’s reaction, which made the strange looks people were giving him pointless. “Why?”

“I thought I could make it up to you for almost breaking your skull. And look—he said excitedly pointing to the bear’s paws—it has a music sheet, so it looks like it’s always singing Christmas carols.”

Merlin blinked several times, looking in between the animal and Arthur. He felt the unnatural urge to hit Arthur in the face with it, just because he did not know how a mature adult should react to such a thing. In the end, he did not assault him with his new present, but hugged the other trapping the bear in between their chests. “Thanks,” he said with what could only be a soupy smile.

“No problem,” Arthur replied with the same expression. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

“Yes, please. I’m knackered and my head’s killing me.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?”

“Because we were having a moment, you idiot!”

“Fine,” Arthur said raising his hands in defeat. He helped Merlin get up, gently taking him by his good shoulder. And if once he was up, they were both standing closer to the other’s personal space than was necessary, neither of them made a comment about it. “But next time, you tell me.”

“Fine,” he replied smiling. “Then, the time after that one, you tell me you’re panicking beforehand and we save ourselves all the trouble.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

They pressed the button and waited for the lift to appear. Merlin was grappling between his hurt shoulder, holding his bear and the bag with painkillers with two different hands, as well as keeping his good arm tightly close to Arthur’s. The other immediately noticed Merlin’s physical struggle but made no comment about it. He merely rolled his eyes and took the bag from his hand and held unto the other one. He had a pleased smirk drawn on his face when the lift’s doors opened. “Prat,” Merlin said with no bite.

“Idiot,” Arthur replied. They stepped into the lift, hand in hand, and left the A&E in the same manner. As the automatic doors closed off behind them, Arthur quietly whispered into his ear “Happy Christmas, Merlin.”

Merlin only smiled and tugged at Arthur harder with his hand. They started to walk faster towards where Arthur had parked his car. He could not wait for them to get home and restart their first date all over again.

 

 

THE END.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and have a merry Christmas!


End file.
